


I Can't Breathe When You Think Like That (Protect the Important Kids So They Don't Leave This Earth Prematurely)

by Caswillsaveme



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7086499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caswillsaveme/pseuds/Caswillsaveme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just looked at him and said, "Your eyes", Patrick pushed his arm away, "They look beautiful when you smile." </p><p>Patrick could feel bile began to rush into his throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Glass Will Always Be Half-Empty

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Weight Of A Hummingbird](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6814363) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



Patrick pushed his way through the big front doors of his small home, straight past the living room, straight past the kitchen, right into the bathroom. The lights flickered to life and a dull gray hung in the air. He slammed the door shut and stumbled over to the toilet, feeling his stomach on the vurge of emptying. His knees hit the tiled floors with a loud bang, and he wrapped his hands around the toilet, as if he was hanging on for dear life. Loud buzzing noises flooded his eardrums and it seemed as though a marching band was playing in the small bathroom with all the noise of the world invading his space. Patricks knuckles glowed white with how tightly he was gripping the toilet. His eyes flicked open and closed, at the same rate that his breathe was coming in. He could feel his stomach dropping and bile rising into his throat. His forehead began to sweat with anxiousness, and he pushed his head into the circle of the toilet bowl. Static seemed to be all around him. Words playing over and over in his head. The strong feeling of complete urgency and panic gripped tightly in his lower abdomenal, as he heaved out dryly into the toilet bowl, tears finally making their way down his face. 

He quickly wiped the tears out of his eyes, heaving again, this time thick vomit came streaming out of his throat. The smell of the puke, and the feeling of the acidic vomit flowing through his body, made Patrick shiver in pain and push his head deeper into the toilet bowl. He jerked foreward and vomitted again, this time, stressing his body enough to give himself a headache. The pounding in his brain matched the beat of the loud drums banging in his ears. He wished for this all to be over, for him to forget what happened this night. He threw up again, this time most of the vomit was blood and acid, because his stomach was empty of what little it had held. He let go of the toliet and wiped his mouth on a dirty rag that layed to the side of the toilet. The light of the small bathroom mocked him with its pure glow. Patrick looked down at himself and dry heaved. Panicked, he turned the cold water on from the silver faucet of the tub. Quickly cold water began to stream out of it. He stood up slowly and wobbled his way to the toilet to flush the bile and blood away from him. Once all the evidence of his sickness was gone, he slammed the porcelin lid down, loud enough to make himself look around and wish to god no one was home to hear him. The cold water continued to flood the bath, he slowly opened the door to the bathroom and ran to the front of the house to make sure the front door was closed. On the way, his heart sped up to the pace of a race horse and he ran quicker than his feet were able to keep up with. As soon as he reached the door he slammed it shut, and locked every lock available. He anxiously looked out the windows to be sure no one was there, and flipped himself around, back pressed against the wall in the corner of the room to be sure that he could see everything possible to be seen, without turning his back on any of the room. Beautiful blue eyes scanned the room to be sure nobody had entered while he had been throwing up in the bathroom, and sure enough nobody was present,except Patrick, breathing heavy and sweating like he had been running a marathon. 

He thought for a second about the only person he could think would be home, " Mom! Mom, you home?" he yelled into the quiet air. Nobody answered and he guessed she must have already left. Good, he thought, if she knew what had happened, or what was happening... 

He heaved again, at the thought. 

The silence of the house highlighted the sound of cold water sloshing in the back bathroom, and Patrick remembered the bathtub had been filling up. He stumbled over the furniture in the house, flipping all of the light switches in sight into the "On" position. He entered the blindingly dull bathroom again, turning off the faucet. He took his book bag off from around his shoulders, and kicked it to the side of the bathroom. He locked every lock on the door of the room, and began to pull his shirt over his head. He threw it to the ground and pushed it into a corner by the book bag. The faucet dripped water into the cold bath loudly, and the sound tormented Patrick, making him feel as though just the sound of the water was enough to drown him. He unbuttoned his pants, hesitantly sliding them down his legs, his stomach dropped as flashes of memory began to play like a silent film in his mind. He saw himself, cold and weak, someone on him, pushing down his pants and pushing back his hat. He saw his own eyes opening wider, and his own voice screaming loudly in fustration and panic. He saw how small he must've looked, and the wide grin that the man had plastered across his face. He saw the man pushing himself against Patrick, and flipping him over against the damp wall of an empty alley way, just over a half hour walk away from Patricks house. Patrick dropped the pants and choked on the acid rising in his throat. 

He fell onto the tile loudly, shoving himself into the least occupied corner of the small bathroom, hugging his knees to his chest and pulling his hat down over his head. He felt like he was choking on air, and if he didn't do something to help himself he would drown in all the panic that was flooding his lungs. He wrapped his hands around his knees and rocked back and forth in the smallest corner of the room. The faucet dripped, the lights buzzed, and he wondered how useless he must've looked.

He thought about what to do. He gripped the wall, so he was standing wearily, swaying in place. With the bath laying there, cold and tempting, it took all of his being to search through his discarded book bag and look for his phone. He heaved and his stomache tightened with panic again. The screen flicked on and he searched for the name, for someone who could help him. 

He dialed the name.

Pete.

And a tired sounding boy answered the phone, " Patrick?".

Patrick almost threw up again at the sound of his own name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this a while ago, as a vent thing after watching a shit ton of Law and Order SVU so take that with what you will. I have no idea if I'll ever update or anything but, here we are.
> 
> ALSO A BIG INSPIRATION FOR ME IN THIS STORY AND FOR POSTING IT WAS ANOTHER AMAZING FIC WRITTEN BY beebotea CALLED Weight Of A Hummingbird, it's honestly one of the most well written fics I've read in a long time, and has a lot of really good perspective writing. Please check that story out because it's really tragic and centers around a lot of the same topics as this one does. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (Thank you for sharing your writing, sorry for not crediting in the first place, I didn't want to be a bother.)


	2. If I Could Number The Stars In My Sight I Would Only Be Able To Count To One

Patrick breathed heavily and swallowed down the bile that had been rising in his throat. 

" Patrick?" Pete repeated in a more awake and confused tone.

Patricks mouth was dry, as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep. But it was all real, everything that had happened was no nightmare. He looked across the bathroom floor, where his bookbag and pants sat. They seemed like they were miles away from him, everything seemed miles away. " Pe-Pete?" he choked out. Just speaking to somebody else made him want to disappear. He wasn't supposed to be the one in trouble. He was supposed to be the one saving everyone else.

" Hey, is there something wrong? You never call this late, man. It's like, fucking midnight or something." Pete yawned loudly, Patrick had obviously disturbed his sleep. What a fucking bother, he thought to himself, how pathetic must he be?

He drew a shaky breath into his flooded lungs, " I need you. Right now.", he choke again on the acid rising through his words. "I need help, I don't think I can get up from where I am right now. Please get here, I need you. Please help me. I can't think right now. My mind is too, full. I can't do it. I can't do it. I can't do it. I need you. Pete." Patrick rasped out with what little motivation he had. "Please."

" Fuck! Hold on Patrick, shit shit shit, I'm fucking coming man! Dude, hold on for me, don't do something stupid. Please drink water or take aspirin if you can get to some. Don't worry man, I'm here, I'll be there in less than twenty minutes." Pete frantically called through the other side of the phone. Patrick heaved again at the thought of how much he burdened Pete with his cry for help.

The phone flatlined and he could tell they had disconnected. He didn't want to have to talk, but he thought that maybe if Pete had left the phone on while he drove to Patricks house, he would feel safer. It was too late for the passing thought. He hated having to be saved, having to be the one who needed someone else. He was supposed to be the one woken up early in the morning from anxious calls. Woken up to the sound of heavy breathing and upsetting sobs. This was all a mistake, a joke. His eyes wondered from the tiny ripples of the cold water in the tub, to the red bruises on his wrists from where the man had held him down. Silent butterflys erupted in Patricks stomache, and he thought that if he could choke down something it would come right back up. The light of the bathroom glowed in his eyes. Pete was on his way, but he wasn't fast enough to rid Patrick of the dirty feeling he held. The sticky feeling of the mans saliva, the sweaty feeling of him pushing Patrick down and holding him in place. He slammed his head against the wall of the bathroom and wished the world could fall. Just fall, fall apart. The ringing headache he had gained earlier screamed with static. He slammed his head against the wall again, thinking maybe if he did it enough times it would push out the silence of the empty house, the empty bathroom, the empty mirror, his empty stomach. He reached out blindly to lift himself from the dirty tile floor. Just to stand up straight was almost enough to make him pass out. But Pete had told him to drink water and aspirin, and he thought he might as well do that much to stop disappointing him.

He leaned heavily against the wall. The white bottle of aspirin was balanced on the corner of the bathroom sink. He always kept it there for when Pete stayed over and needed something to help him when Patricks words just weren't enough. The bottle symbolized giving up to Patrick, but he knew you can't give something up if you never had anything to begin with, so he gripped onto the sink for support and choked back a couple of pills into his closing stomach. The feeling was almost as if betraying his own body, and the acid in his throat rose automatically. He pushed to keep down the small amount of pills he had swallowed. He thought about what he would look like to Pete if he was there, in that small bathroom with him. He thought he might just laugh out of pity.

Patricks shaky hands moved towards the distant faucet, and he turned the water on. Looking up, he could see how red and weak he looked in the mirror. His eyes, betraying him, specked with red and shining from the tears he hadn't noticed streaming down his face; his hair looked like a stuck up mess of golden brown and strawberry blond sitting on top of his head. The extra weight he had always looked at as a problem screamed out to him even louder than it had ever. He was disgusted by the person he saw in the mirror. He wished he could just clean himself up and delete the memory of the call to Pete, and pretend nothing had ever happened. His hands were still sticky from the mans attack, Patrick shoved them into the running sink water and scraped off as much area as he could. His hands felt foreign. Almost like nothing on him belonged to him anymore, everything was dirty, everything belonged to the man. His hands glowed red and the delicate porcelain skin was starting to break badly enough to bleed. He kept scrubbing, his eyes were brimming and burning with tears. But he didn't stop, until he couldn't see himself in the mirror anymore. The steam from the hot sink water clouded it up enough to block the sight of himself, and he anxiously turned the water off. His knuckles glowed palely from his tight grip of the sink. Slowly pushing off the sink, he weakly limped to the bath tub, and sat on the edge of it. His eyes glanced down at the raw hands that lay on either side, foreign, distant. A drop of water, ripples the silence of the room. Patrick thinks for a moment, and lifts himself to settle into the filled bath tub. He doesn't mind his clothes getting wet, he just wants to drown. He just wants this all to be over. He just wants to be clean. He sinks deeper in the water until his whole head is submerged, and he closes his eyes. The water is silent, it wraps him up in its arm. Patrick thinks about what it'd be like to disappear in the water. What it'd be like to drown. He stays under, until he knows he can't take the lack of oxygen anymore. When he lifts his head out of the water, his eyes sting, and his shirt is soaking wet and stuck to his body. Another drop of water ripples the tub..

A loud noise comes from the front door and he can feel the breathe in his lungs grow thick. His eyes open wide, and he balls himself up tightly in the water. Patrick listens to the front door slam shut. A loud voice yells through the house, and he is relieved. "Patrick?"

Patrick pushed his head into the water in between his curled up knees. Pete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not writing until now, I've been doing a lot of art. I actually wrote this chapter last month, but sadly didn't finish it til today. As always, thank you for reading, guys.
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to see my art or whatever my instagram is:@caswillsaveme
> 
> and my tumblr is also Caswillsaveme.


End file.
